Incendiary (The Premonition Series (Volume 4))

by Amy A. Bartol

  I frown at her and ask, “What?”

  “We had a meeting,” Red says in a quiet tone, lookin’ really sad. “Anya has just as much to lose in this if Brennus succeeds as the rest of us. So, we’ve decided that she’s part of the team, Russ. If she wants to come, she’s in.”

  Fear and anger vie for supremacy within me. Anger wins within seconds. “I don’t get a say in this?” I demand between my teeth.

  “It would just make the vote five-to-one,” Red replies, straightenin’ her shoulders. "And I’m an equal rank to you."

  “And there’s nothin’ I can say to change your mind?” I ask, pointin’ accusingly at her.

  Shakin’ her head, Red murmurs, “No.”

  My eyes bore into Red’s and I can tell that she’s strugglin’ not to look away from me. Quietly, I say, “Anythin’ happens to her and I’ll never forgive you.”

  Palin’, Red breathes, “I know.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Doubt The Stars

  Evie

  Slowly, I sink down on the large bed while my eyes touch upon the destruction in Reed’s disheveled room. Ancient paintings and works of art lie like carcasses of dead flesh upon the floor along with shards of glass piled beneath the broken frames of the once elegant mirrors. Reed’s clothing is shredded beyond recognition, strewn like kite tails under diamond shapes of broken plaster from the pockmarked walls.

  My fingers tremble as they run over the slashes in the sheets and mattress. Reaching down, I numbly pick up a silken pillow from the floor, hugging it to me for comfort as the feathers flee from it.

  The fellas had torn the house apart in their search for clues to find me months ago, but nowhere had they taken it to the extent as in this room. No, this bedroom was more than searched; it was destroyed.

  My heart thumps wildly as I think, Brennus did this. This is his hatred…and he has Reed…

  I bring the pillow to my nose, inhaling the faint scent of Reed on it and feeling a piercing pain in my heart.

  Please be alive, I pray quietly for Reed, as I hug the pillow tight to me.

  “Evie?” Anya’s soft voice asks from the doorway of Reed’s room.

  Buns and Brownie just finished working on Anya. Clad in a milky-white dress that only reaches her mid-thigh, Anya is breath-taking. The dress belongs to Buns, but it fits Anya like it was made for her. Nearly backless, the gossamer material contrasts starkly with her ebony wings, setting them off perfectly. With her dark hair loose and flowing over her shoulders, she’s stunning.

  “You look…ready,” I murmur, rising from the bed and letting the pillow slip from my fingers.

  Anya runs her hands down the sides of her dress, saying, “This doesn’t feel like a weapon. I would much prefer my quiver and bow.”

  “I know, right?” I ask her in rhetorical agreement. “I thought that Buns was mental when she first told me that there was strength in the feminine mystique. But she’s right. Against the Gancanagh, beauty and appeal are powerful weapons. We need you alive. When they see you like this, they’ll want to keep you around for as long as possible,” I explain.

  Tentatively, Anya reaches out and touches the black, silken material of my dress that pours over my skin and clings to me like liquid.

  “What about you?” she asks me as her green eyes search mine. “Will this keep you alive?”

  “I don’t know what Brennus will do,” I reply with a small quiver in my voice. “It could buy me some time, or it could work against me. I’m hoping that it will distract him from remembering that I didn’t bring Russell.”

  At the mention of Russell’s name, Anya stiffens. “Brennus will never have Russell. We will make sure of it.”

  “You love him,” I state.

  “Yes,” she agrees.

  “I love him, too,” I admit.

  “I know,” she says gravely, taking my hand in hers. “They’re waiting for us downstairs.”

  “You’ll take care of him?” I ask, holding her hand tighter.

  Anya’s fair eyes show worry as she replies, “If I’m not able to, I know that you will.”

  My steps falter when I understand her meaning. “You have no plan B,” I whisper, dragging my feet as we enter the hallway. “I’m right, aren’t I? You don’t expect to survive this.”

  “Shh,” she whispers back. “Russell, will hear you.” Anya’s eyes narrow dangerously. When she sees me hesitate further, she adds defensively, “I have the right to protect my aspire!”

  Knowing that she’s right, I begin walking toward the stairway at the end of the hall. “You do,” I agree, “but I’ve discovered that having a plan B is…helpful.”

  Anya is silent as we descend the stairs, and then she replies, “You can be in charge of my plan B, then.”

  “Not me,” I whisper, approaching Reed’s media room, “Russell will.”

  Russell’s back stiffens the moment we enter the masculine enclave. The media room had been a mixture of something between a chic, modern Manhattan apartment and the Batcave. Now, it holds little appeal. Shelves that had held an array of sly and engaging high-tech hardware are now barren.

  Leaning with faux-casual grace against the shattered, multi-touch, media table in the center of the room, Russell’s chocolate-brown eyes rove over every inch of Anya next to me. The pitch-black body armor he’s wearing is dripping with an array of weapons: knives, daggers, guns, and grenades. He isn’t prepared to rely on magic to win; he’s bringing an arsenal, too.

  With every step Anya takes, Russell’s gaze grows darker and his jaw tighter. “Ah, naw, Red!” Russell says with irritation in every word. “Why don’t you just sprinkle some salt on her and ring the dinner bell?” His eyes don’t meet mine, remaining exclusively on Anya, but I can see the worry in them anyway.

  “I prefer to think of it as icing,” Buns answers, joining us and coming to stand next to Russell.

  Brownie stands next to Buns and winks at Anya when she says, “She looks fierce, right?”

  Brownie is dressed in a curve-hugging, black sweater that reaches her mid-thigh, her inky leggings tucked into her sexy, black lace-up boots. A cowl can be drawn over her platinum hair and face to protect her from the toxic skin of the Gancanagh. Buns is similarly attired in a deep-gray ensemble. I’d much prefer that she and Buns wear body armor, but they thought it might tip-off the Seraphim to what we’re doing.

  Russell’s mouth thins in disdain, just like a true Seraph’s. “I’d like her to play hard-to-get, ‘cuz right now, she looks like prey,” he counters, keeping his expression the same.

  “It’s strategy, Russell,” Zephyr advises from his position across the room where a door in the wall stands open, exposing Reed’s secret cache of weapons. “She is nonthreatening in that attire.”

  Zee’s body armor is strapped with two sheathed swords crisscrossing his back in a sinister X. His eyes capture Russell’s for a moment, but it's only a moment.

  “Nonthreatenin’?” Russell murmurs. “In what sense?” he asks with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “In the hack-and-slash genre,” I reply softly, and receive a scathing look for opening my mouth.

  “She looks like a walkin’ disaster,” Russell replies, pointing at Anya. “They’ll all be salivatin’ for her.”

  “Exactly, with each willing to turn on the others. The opportunity to have her for his own will be overwhelming,” I explain, subsuming Russell’s anger.

  Instead of helping Russell, my words just make his expression grimmer. He turns stiffly away from us, concentrating on the closed portals resting on the large media table. The two avenues we have back into the Gancanagh estate are almost diametrically opposed in appearance. One portal is housed in an old, brown leather-bound book of poetry. The gilded-edged book is so old as to have been created before the advent of type setting. The other is concealed in the sleek contours of a highly customized laptop computer.

  Zephyr’s authoritative voice rings out as he asks, “Everyone has a personal por
tal?”

  Buns and Brownie both nod, touching their masculine-looking wristwatches. Russell holds up his wrist with the same style of watch on it while Zephyr similarly displays his for us. The open ends of each of their personal portals are aligned as a menagerie of clocks along the shelf on the far wall. The dials of each clock spin at dizzying speeds so that once the wristwatch portal opens, the bearer will be sucked into it instantly and wind up back in this room.

  When Zee’s eyes shift to Anya, she nods, her fingertips lightly toying with the stunning diamond-encrusted locket that falls daringly between her breasts. The mate to her necklace is the matching silver compact with embedded diamonds on its open lid. It, too, rests on the shelf, right next to Russell’s clock.

  “I have mine,” I murmur with a nod when Zephyr’s eyes fall on me.

  An ebony, oval-shaped onyx brooch has been secured to a silky, black ribbon and tied at my throat. The black stone, mounted to the pin, can be opened to reveal the portal. The matching onyx compact sits next to Anya’s on the shelf.

  Walking to the mantle, Zee picks up each compact, spinning them so that they turn in perpetual motion, hovering inches above the shelf where they had rested. Crossing back to us, Zephyr holds my gaze.

  He gently touches my cheek, saying, “Live through this, Evie, and when it’s done, we won’t look back.”

  My eyes instantly grow hot with unshed tears, but I force them down. I can’t control the goose bumps, however, as my entire body reacts to his words. I wonder feebly if he knows that I’d give my body, my soul, to be alone with Reed for just a few moments…however long it will take to change him back to what he had been. All I can do is nod. I must not exude much confidence, because Russell grasps me by my upper arms. When his intense stare locks with mine, he begins to coach me.

  “This is gonna be as simple as takin’ the back roads home, Red,” he says, trying to hide his dark unease with a winsome smile. “You know Brennus, just like you once knew every twist, bend, and crack in the pavement along that route. He’s weaker than you, so I expect you to beat six shades of crap out of him. Do you hear me?” he asks.

  I nod, unable to speak past the tightening in my throat.

  He nods, too. “You’re gonna make it. Now get amped up so we can get your boy back!” My eyes widen at his words and when he sees my surprise, his expression turns to one of true affection. He smoothes a strand of hair back from my face, saying, “I’d rather risk soundin’ like a hypocrite than send you in there without a pep talk. You’re goin’ in regardless of what I say, so go knowin’ that I won’t bail on you…I got your back.”

  “I never thought you’d bail on me,” I reply with the certainty of a thousand lifetimes.

  Russell nearly crushes me then, hugging me to him with a strength that insinuates his fear louder than his anger had. “Don’t let Brennus have Anya,” he whispers in my ear. “She’s not his.”

  “I know,” I breathe in his ear. “She’s yours.”

  “Remind her if she forgets,” he responds while he tries to hide the unruly panic that’s banking in his lovely brown eyes.

  Slowly, Russell lets go of me and straightens. Without a word, he turns around and sweeps Anya into his arms, hugging her much like he had embraced me. “You can have whatever you want from me…just come back,” he says against her hair.

  Anya closes her eyes, like she’s in pain. “You’re impossible to figure out,” Anya replies in a soft tone.

  “Naw, I’m simple. I’ll show you when you get back,” he promises before he kisses her.

  I discreetly avert my eyes from them because it isn’t a friendly peck on the cheek. Zephyr clears his throat not soon after and Russell releases a rather stunned-looking Anya.

  “Are you ready, sweetie?” Buns asks Russell in a careful voice. Russell’s jaw is too tight to answer her. His brow furrows, looking from Anya to me and then back again before he nods once.

  Buns and Brownie stand in front of the table, near the antique book. They’ll enter it first and then Anya and I will follow them. Russell and Zephyr will use the laptop portal to gain access to the estate. Reaching out, Buns takes Brownie’s hand in hers. The look that passes between them is one of love that transcends mere friendship. They are sisters in the most important sense of the word. Buns glances at Zephyr and I have to bite my lip so I won’t beg her to stay behind—for his sake. Zee’s eyes are those of a man who has his back against the wall. He says something to her in Angel that makes her smile faintly at him, before giving him a coquettish wink.

  Lifting the lid of the book, the room begins to swirl and distort. Buns and Brownie whirl away into a turning, twisting darkness beyond the empty pages. Zephyr closes the cover for a moment, allowing Anya and me to compose ourselves. Russell has the look of a boxer about to enter the ring. He can’t help bouncing around, dodging unseen shadows that jab at him. Feeling Anya’s fingers thread through mine, I lift my eyes to her face and find it ashen with fear.

  Zephyr lifts the lid on the book just as Anya pleads softly, “Russell, don’t let me fall—”

  As we distort, Russell’s urgent words follow us into the portal, “I’ll be there to catch you—”

  Traveling rapidly through tea stained-colored, parchment passages, covered on all sides by ancient, rune-like symbols, I’m ejected from the paper shroud much like a bookmark slipping from a text.

  I land on my hands and knees in a patch of streaming sunlight from the long gallery of arrow-slit windows in the Archive room. Swallowing hard against the bile rising in my throat, I glance up to see Brownie’s platinum hair spilling over Preben’s arms wrapped around her.

  Clasping the closed book-portal under her arm, Buns reaches down with her other hand to help me up. I give her a curious look while rising to my feet. She shrugs, saying, “Preben’s happy to see her.”

  As I look past Preben’s silvery hair, I see no less than two score of Power angels; they watch me with unwavering stares. I square my shoulders, adopting the stature of a leader. When Preben’s gray eyes lock with mine, he eases Brownie to his side, holding her in place with his arm over her shoulder. “We are assembled,” he says, and seeing the question in my eyes, he adds, “They are Prostat Powers—friends of Zephyr and Reed.”

  “I see,” I reply, but then my brow wrinkles in concern. “You’re a Dominion Power. Won’t helping me go against the Seraphim’s leadership?”

  Preben smiles, saying, “It would, if I were still a part of Dominion. They have chosen to follow your father’s leadership. But, I have since elevated in rank to Prostat Power. That makes me no longer beholden to Dominion.”

  My eyes widen as I point out, “You’re still outranked though.”

  He smiles in amusement. “I am taking my direction from a Seraphim, am I not?” he asks me, while one silvery-blond eyebrow rises in question.

  “So, I am a loop-hole,” I breathe a shuddering breath.

  “Your rank is open for interpretation,” Preben agrees. “There has been no official ruling regarding your level or position among us, so should we choose to follow you, we will not be committing treason.”

  “Then, I thank you all for coming,” I reply with a wry smile of my own.

  “It is our honor to fight with you,” Preben replies, inclining his head.

  “I just want to make one thing very clear. No one kills Reed,” I say in my most menacing tone. “Do you understand?” I ask him.

  “Is that an order?” he counters in a calm tone.

  “Yes,” I reply.

  “Then, it will be obeyed,” he responds.

  I blink, unable to believe that I’m not coming up against harrowing resistance. Feeling all of their eyes on me, I try to hide my bewilderment. Focusing on Anya, I see that she’s watching me, too. Her skin has almost no color now and she holds her hands together in front of her in an effort to stop them from shaking. I claim one of Anya’s hands, holding it tight in mine and squeezing it reassuringly. She gives me a fragile smile, but her
green eyes betray her mounting anxiety that goes well beyond unease.

  Preben breaks our silent communication as he says, “The Seraphim guard the doors to the Knight’s Bar. They’ve surmised that should you return, it is where you’ll go.”

  My brow wrinkles as I curse wordlessly in my mind.

  “Sweetie,” Buns smiles at me. “Brownie and I can take care of them.”

  “You have a plan?” I ask her in surprise as we huddle to discuss it.

  An engagingly sly smile passes between Buns and Brownie, before Brownie intones, “It’s a blend of the sophisticated and uncomplicated. We’ll just pretend to stumble upon them.”

  “That’s your plan?” I ask skeptically, thinking that they’re going to get caught.

  “Sweetie, they think Reapers are hare-brained,” Buns explains. “We’ll just prey upon their expectations.”

  “We’ll lead them away,” Brownie promises. “All you need to do is get in there.” Remembering the dark energy surrounding the Knights Bar, hackle-like goose bumps rise beneath my skin. I force down the shiver that begs to run through me, managing a nod instead. “Alright then,” Brownie nods back and we clasp each other in a group hug, like we used to do after a huddle in field hockey.

  The male angels surrounding us wear slightly lecherous expressions when we straighten up. Still holding Anya’s hand, I spy the suit of armor, the only decoration in the room. Leading her to it, I grasp the battleaxe clutched by the armor’s silvery glove. Wrenching it away, I listen while the weapon hums its eerie music in soft vibrations.

  Anya’s skin prickles next to me as she surveys the wicked, serrated blade of the axehead. She asks, “Whose ax is that?”

  “It was a gift,” I reply while I tug at her hand, following Buns and Brownie out of the archive.

  We split up, Brownie and Buns hurrying away to approach the hallway of the Knight’s Bar at the opposite end from us. Preben and the Powers come with Anya and me, trailing us like silent shadows. Nearing the passage, I pause just before the archway. Preben produces a small mirror on an extendable pole, angling it so that we can observe the occupants of the corridor. Tau stands motionless in the center of the hall, directly across from the medieval armor sentinels that I had placed there to guard the doors. Seeing my father causes my stomach to clench in pain and my legs to go numb with fear. I try hard not to panic, but my labored breath sounds loud in my ears.